✓ Meanwhile [h.styles]

.ten.

Harry's sitting in the passenger seat with his seatbelt strapped too tightly against his chest. Every time he tries to pull it for some freedom, it tightens just a little more.

His mother's hands are firm on the wheel, a little calloused and dry but that's not what he's concerned about. Even at such a young age he knows something is wrong. It's Wednesday and he knows he should be in the music room or else his father will get mad and start throwing things again when he gets home.

He looks outside the window and sees a black, sleek car following them through the side mirror. He doesn't have his glasses on but he can still read the license plate.

"Mum." He tries to move the seatbelt a little when the speed increases. She drives over a speed bump and then turns to look at him with this eerie look in her eyes. "Dad's behind us."

"Shh." Her attention shifts back to the road. "We're playing a game."

"What kind of game?"

"Racing."

The car behind them taps the rear and sends Harry jolting up a little. He doesn't mind much except that it seems to scare his mother. "Why don't you tell him you don't want to play?"

"Your father-"

The car hits them harder this time and her arm instinctively extends out to his chest to keep him against the seat. "I don't like this game either."

Another hit. They swerve a little on the road and Harry closes his eyes and holds onto his mother's arm.

"Tell him to stop."

"Harry-"

"Please tell him to stop. He's scaring me. I'm scared." He loosens his grip on her but only because the confession that's hanging in the air is one that would provoke his father into doing something so much worse. Little snippets of everything he's ever been through for punishment for being weak start to play in his head. "Please don't tell him that."

His mum makes a turn and then looks at him again, moving her hand to caress the side of his face gently. "I'm scared of a lot of things, too, baby."

He still feels too embarrassed, and looks down at his hands.

"Harry. Look at me."

He shakes his head slowly. The self-loathe crawling up his chest tastes like bile in his mouth. Maybe it's the car jerking forward again. He refuses to look up at his mother.

"You're allowed to have weaknesses, okay? I don't want you to forget that. Not ever. Take that with you. Promise me?"

His dad's car has somehow managed to reach them at their side, and Harry tries to wave his hands to keep him from scaring her any further. It's already too late, though, and the force of the car makes theirs flip off against a tree.

He doesn't know how long he's out for; minutes, maybe, but there's pressure in his head when he comes to. The physical pain he feels disappears when he cranes his injured neck to check on his mum. Everything falls in slow motion when he attempts to reach for her.

Hands come up from nowhere specific and pry him out of the car but all he really cares about is his mother who has her eyes wide open. They're so wide but seemingly unseeing so he tries to shout for her, flailing his arms because he's right there. He's so close yet so far and, "let me go! She-she's not looking at me! Dad, let go!"

He's pushed up against the barely scathed car by his father who lowers himself to his height. Harry isn't even paying attention. He doesn't care when he gets slapped twice or threatened. He doesn't care about the men sitting in the back of the car staring at him.